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The glint in her eyes when her theories proved correct was something he especially liked in Morfydrianas. Her powers were just as pretty. She was pretty. Beautiful would be the better word. Breath-taking. Life-stealing. He would follow her to hell and back, thrice over, if he could only be allowed to stay by her side.
Her appearance, as fabricated it was, even if she had no recollection of the person she truly was before this; he loved it. Every detail that had went into fabricating -this- Morfyd; the Royal alchemist, the Vate. The ticks and jitters that went into her mannerisms. The way she held herself when shivering; whether from the cold, excitement, or her own nervousness.
He longed to touch her real hair. He wanted to take her somewhere only they could go, where she could research everything to her heart's content without interruption.
He would strike down the Milletian for her, should she ask. Or a god, perhaps? Anything she wanted, anything she desired, he would do it. All for her. She would be able to make him able to do it. Morfy could do anything.
He belonged to Morfy. He was hers to use as she saw fit for her experiments. He owed her this much for saving his life. There was no other path for him than to stay by Morfy's side.
His blood dripped into the black soil as they fought the coral-infested golems. She supported him, her power flowing through his entire body.
It was as if he could feel her love strengthen him.
--
Morfydrianas sometimes lost herself in her research. She would become completely absorbed in it, forgetting everything else to pursue knowledge and shutting herself into her house. Neglecting to eat for days on end, getting only the barest of sleep, dragging herself to her utmost limits mentally and physically until she would collapse from exhaustion.
It was something that he had come to learn there was no helping. Once she got that way, she wouldn't stop until a breakthrough. So it befell him to take care of her and make sure she would eat.
He placed fake food on the table at first. Maybe she would think to eat if she saw food, he thought. Wrong. They ended up leaving it there as decoration regardless.
While they both needed meals, they scarcely had funds or taste for fancy, high-class meals. Cooking was only a time sink. They usually ate what he bought from the grocery store without processing any of it. Most often, it would be vegetables and fruit. Potatoes, strawberries. Those last ones would never last too long when put down near the royal alchemist. But even while they ate, work did not stop.
Sometimes he himself collapsed, but it was within calculations. They needed to make progress, and progress wouldn't come if they wasted time. Even then, there were some things that he thought would be... Nice to indulge in, maybe.
"Morfy...was it not your birthday tomorrow?"
"Huh? I dunno, was it?"
She mostly shrugged it off before going back to her work. She didn't seem to care much for it.
Hopefully he could help her finish her research before the night came. She could use a break.
---
"Is this... for me?"
Morfydrianas looked at the small carton Talek had placed on the table, among the fake food with a slightly wide gaze. Looks like she didn't expect him to actually get her something.
He smiled at her, as she opened the box.
"Happy birthday, Morfy."
Inside it sat a small cake, its frosting pink and topped with strawberries.
"Ah. Nourishment. I see."
She held herself the same way than usual, that strange self-hug that mostly stemmed from her anxiety. Her words were flat, disconnected, but her expression would slowly morph into a shy smile. The way her eyes seemed to light up made him feel something deep in his chest. Even more-so when they were looking at him.
"It.... has been a long time since anyone gifted me anything."
"Shall we eat it together?"
He would treasure that memory always. If it meant seeing that smile more often, he would gladly buy her more cake anytime.
---
The Milletian always made him nervous. They were a wild card, with no way to properly predict what they would do.
Even more, they seemed to learn Morfy's powers easily. Too easily. A part of him resented it. Those powers belonged to her. She had worked so many hours, so many years to learn and master them. The Milletian had no right to just.... What, look through clues left behind by Morfy and just learn them? How dare they. Milletians were to be used. Just like that girl they dragged along.
Milletians weren't supposed to be.... To be.. they didn't belong in Erinn. They should simply sit back and let the actors play their roles on the stage.
And it just so happened that the Milletian was the nosiest of them all.
Seeing them at the core of Scuabtuinne was a bad omen.
---
Morfydrianas was a lonely person, he came to conclude.
She reacted to affection oddly. Whenever he would muster the courage to say something remotely... endearing, she would spare him a nervous glance. Only one chance out of five, she would actually answer anything.
He didn't miss how there were so many chairs at her dining table. This home was bought with her salary from the alchemist association, so it wasn't like this was her familial home. Perhaps she once hoped to invite friends, colleagues, or perhaps have a family of her own?
Speaking of, he barely knew anything about Morfydrianas, even after living with her for so long. She seemed to change her appearance at a whim, sometimes either dying her hair or deciding to don a wig permanently for months on end. Had he not seen her in the middle of setting up her new aesthetics, it would have been hard for him to recognize her in a crowd.
There was at least one full shelf stocked full of sketchbooks where she had designed herself different appearances and designs; she would always test their looks out on puppets he made for her. He liked how detailed her drawings were. It was as much a game of dress-up as it was a break from research. It was the only hobby he knew she had. The only respite she would give herself from work. She even designed different looks for different occasions.
She would don the red-tipped white wig and that old coat when she would work for the black moon. When she had to go to the royal castle, she would change it up for a plain, black one with a ponytail and blue eye contacts, preferring a proper robe to go with it. (She really loved the looks of ponytails; a lot of her designs had them.)
Even if it was just to go out to buy some supplies, she would at least change one part of her. The only times when she didn't don anything special was when she had to bathe ; but gods forbid he even try to watch. He wouldn't do that to her. Never. Holding a conversation that wasn't about research with her was hard enough.
No matter what she looked like, she was still Morfydrianas. Even if she acted this way with one person, and that way with the next. There were as many Morfy's as there were of her disguises. All of them specifically made so that she could fit in her environment. He wished she did not feel the need to keep those personas - for it was what they were, really - even near him.
He made a point to craft dolls in her image, and dress them according to her drawings. His craftsmanship wasn't all that perfect, and he always abandoned the dolls he worked on in favor for Morfy's newest design. They were all incomplete. A little bit like the person they were made in the image of. Still, he held onto one of the dolls especially, the one that looked most like Morfydrianas herself, without any wigs, makeup or add-ons to change herself.
He really missed the shine of her dark blue hair.
---
It wasn't fair. Why was the Milletian so strong? It was a two-on-one fight (five-on-one if you counted Morfy's golems), and they still struggled against them. The savior of the goddess, the knight of light, the bearer of the Caliburn, host of various, strange forces that bordered on god-like powers on top of the Briogh-reliant techniques Morfy herself had. An immortal, a single soul forever driven forward. One that cannot die, starve or fall ill permanently. Who allowed this kind of monster to grow in Erinn? He sure isn't the first one to wonder that, he thought to himself with a nervous laugh. They would need more power to beat them. More power to keep them down long enough so they couldn't interfere with Morfy anymore.
And he stood by what he had said before. He'd do anything for her, even if it meant he would die.
---
"Move it! Faster!"
Everything felt slow. Was he the one being slow? Or was it the Milletian that was too fast? It became hard to think.
"Talek! Is that the best you can do?"
No. He could do more. Much more. Much ---
Except it wasn't enough.
Never enough.
Even like this, he was overpowered.
How..unfair.
A last ditch attempt, he shoved a curse into the puppet he had made in the image of Morfy-- and bound it to the Milletian. The curse was meant to whittle away at their health, attacking their soul directly. Possession. But even that failed - of course someone whose primary state of being was a soul, would be resistant to attacks that aimed at it. All his options were exhausted.
Nothing he did worked.
Everything hurt.
"Mor...fy..."
If it was her, she could fix him. She could heal him. She would make him feel better.
She always did. "Hurry..."
Warm tears ran down his face, from the only eye that still could shed any.
"You.... of all..."
Even as he fell, the only thing he could see through his blurred view, was her.